Who Wants To Live Forever?
by DragonLadyRelena
Summary: During a party, Dusty meets a fellow immortal who knows more about being immortal than she does. Can she trust him and what kind of information does he have that she needs? Could this truly be the end of Dusty? Fourth installment of Dusty Saga. (Soon to be edited!)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **You know the drill, folks, and you hate it, so I shouldn't have to type it out. The title of the story is borrowed from Queen, but no part of the song enters the story and I am making no money off of that, either. With that taken care of, enjoy the story!

The whole point of the party Allura was throwing totally passed her by as she couldn't really think of a reason for it. She shrugged, guessing that was reason enough to throw one. Dusty watched the gathering from a quiet corner, more content to keep an eye on things than to actively participate. Her friends understood and complied with her wishes, often stopping by for a breather and talking to her for a few moments. She was smiling as Pidge left her, still miffed that she'd broken his best encryption overnight, when she was hit with an unfamiliar feeling. It was a mix of danger, panic, and unwilling recognition. Without straightening from her relaxed position against the wall, she scanned the room, hoping to pinpoint the origin of the feeling. She found it coming down the steps from the ballroom door.

He was handsome, in a rugged sort of way. The man who strode in, a luscious red head on his arm, was six-three, lean as a gymnast with blond hair pushed back from a tanned, lantern-jawed face. His eyes, she saw, were an arresting sea green and his walk was almost a swagger and would have been if he'd put more effort into it. "You clean up really well, Dusty," Lance said as he approached. She blinked in surprise at him, then smiled.

"I can look human when it's called for," she chuckled, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle in her dress.

"Good thing, too. I don't you'd be forgiven if you showed up in grease spattered coveralls." Dusty laughed and he joined her.

"I've always said comfort more than looks," she said, helping herself to an éclair, "but when it's necessary, I can look like a girl." She turned her gaze back to the newcomer.

"Do you know him?" Lance asked, noticing her intent stare and mental unrest.

"Not personally," she answered, trying not to growl when the man winked at her, "but I know _of_ him. He's an actor from what I understand, and high in demand at that. His name's Adrian Stephens."

"What's he doing here?"

"Beats me," she replied with a shrug, not taking her eyes off of him. She wasn't entirely sure she trusted him, but she wouldn't do anything more than keep an eye on him unless he started trouble. He looked like the type that could- and would- start trouble at every opportunity. She'd be keeping an eye on him, all right, and if he slipped even once, he was going to be very sorry he ever crossed paths with her.

Adrian studied the woman leaning nonchalantly against the wall across the room. Her feet, clad in Cinderella-like slippers with to-die-over heels, added another three inches to her already impressive height. Her dress, a deep forest green, started just above her knees and, by design, clung most faithfully to her figure. Her raven black hair was artfully arranged in a random-looking tumble of curls and was held in place by two emerald-studded combs. Her grey eyes were half closed as if she was rapidly growing bored with the whole thing. He knew she was watching him so he smiled when she laughed and then winked at her, amused when she tensed up.

"Do you think she knows?" asked Rachel, looking up at him.

"She knows," he replied, still chuckling. "This'll be interesting."

Dusty stood alone on the roof, her thoughts in turmoil. _Who is he and what does he want with me?_ she asked herself, gripping her elbows so hard her knuckles were white. She'd never met one of her own kind before, and was unsure of what would happen. "You might as well come out," she said when she heard a step behind her. "I know you're there."

"You keep doing that and you'll get bruises," Adrian told her, stepping onto the roof and closing the door behind him.

"I don't bruise easily," she informed him over her shoulder, not looking at him. "I may be a woman, but I'm not a delicate flower."

"I can see that," he chuckled, coming to stand beside her. "What brings you up here?"

"A chance to be alone," she replied with a huge inward sigh. "What about you?"

"Same thing," he lied easily. She narrowed her eyes, but said nothing, turning back to the view of the lake and stars.

"You're immortal," she said quietly a few minutes later.

"As you are."

"I thought I was the only one." He smiled at her.

"There's actually a few hundred of us. We're pretty spread out around the galaxy at the moment." He looked at her. "How much do you know about us?"

"Only that we can't die," she answered, looking down at her shoes.

"We can," he said, pushing a hand through his hair. She held perfectly still before slowly turning to face him.

"No, we can't. I've been shot, stabbed, hanged, burned at the stake three times, poisoned, stung by scorpions, killed by snakes, drawn and quartered and even beheaded once." She shuddered at the memory. "I don't think I'd like _that_ one ever again. I've died of diseases no one's even heard of anymore more times than I care to count. Each and every time, I've gotten up either within a few minutes or a couple of days. _Now_ you tell me I can die?" She turned and started walking away.

"I mean permanently," he told her. She froze and slowly turned to face him again.

"How?" she asked quietly.

Lance found Dusty the next morning in the control room, working on the castle computer system. "What happened last night? Where'd you go?" he asked, coming up behind her.

"The roof for a while," she replied, glancing up at the screen, "and then for a walk in the gardens."

"Allura was looking for you."

"I know." He paused before continuing.

"Adrian left about the same time you did," he said slowly. She sighed and looked at him.

"Are you implying something?"

"Well--"

"I thought so," she sighed and stood.

"Duster, I hate to sound nosy--"

"But that's what you are."

"Granted, but I've got a right as your friend to know," he stated, looking at her tear streaked face when she turned to face him. "What the hell happened last night, Duster?"

"Nothing," she told him, hating the fact that her voice wasn't steady. "Nothing at all."

"Then why the waterworks?" She shook her head and walked around him. He reached out and grabbed her arm. "Duster, you can tell me."

"Let go of me, Lance." She said it quietly.

"Dusty . . ."

"Let go." She didn't look at him and that convinced him more than anything that something was _very_ wrong. "Please." He braced himself for anything she could possibly throw at him.

"No." Dusty turned to look at him and he felt the bottom dropped out of his stomach when he saw tears swimming in her eyes. "Tell me what happened last night, Duster," he insisted, cupping her cheek in his palm. She leaned into his hand for a moment before she sighed and sat back down.

"Where do I start?"

"The beginning would be good," he said, leaning against the terminal. She took a deep breath and told him. "So he knows a way for you to go?" he asked when Dusty finished. She nodded. "What is it?"

"It's going to sound crazy," she warned, picking at a fingernail, another habit she'd thought she'd broken.

"Try me."

"He says I've got to be willing to die for love." Lance looked confused. "I have to be willing to give up everything I am, everything I have, for love." He still looked puzzled. "See, I told you it was crazy--" He put his hand over her mouth.

"I don't think so," he replied, smiling a little at her surprised look. "I just wonder how, in more than 3,000 years, that it hasn't happened yet?"

"I think it did once about 90 years ago," she said when he took his hand away.

"What happened?"

"He was killed in a bar fight."

"Over . . ."

"Me," she sighed. "I was waiting for a friend and this 350 pound gorilla, some biker, decided to hit on me. I told him I wasn't interested, but he couldn't take the hint. A really cute guy from the other end of the bar saw what was happening and came to my rescue. A large fight ensued and when it was over, my rescuer was on the floor after being stabbed seven times with a broken beer bottle. He died on the way to the hospital."

"And what about you?"

"I died three days later." She rubbed the back of her neck. "While my hero was getting his ass kicked by the gorilla, the gorilla's _girlfriend_ started in on me. I took several well-placed punches, kicks and knife wounds. Wasn't pretty."

"I suppose not," he chuckled. "How many times has it happened?" 

"Twice," she replied. "That night, and then about 75 years later."

"Died again?"

"Lung cancer. I was a volunteer at a nursing home." He paused, thinking it over for several minutes.

"I don't think those two times count," he said, still puzzling it out as he talked.

"What do you mean?" she asked, baffled.

"Well, the first time, you didn't know him," he explained, "so you never got the chance to love him. The second time, he was already dying and you weren't, so that one doesn't count either."

"Oh. I didn't think of it that way."

"Maybe you should." He sighed. "Think it'll ever happen again?"

"It's just a matter of time," she said with a resigned sigh, "And I've got all the time in the universe." She stood and simply disappeared from the control room.

"Dusty? Dusty!"

Dusty reappeared in the observation lounge. "Sorry about that, Lance," she whispered, sinking down onto the floor and looking out the windows at the overcast sky overhead, which seemed to fit her mood perfectly. Sighing, she crossed her legs and leaned back against the wall, her thoughts in turmoil. _Could_ she give up her immortality? Wasn't she fed up with watching her friends die while she alone remained unchanged? She was tired of living alone, wasn't she? Here was her chance to live a truly full life and finally rest forever at the end. She should be jumping at it . . . right? Anyway, who really wanted to live forever?

She looked up when the door opened and Adrian walked in. "Everything ok?" he asked, sitting down next to her.

"Not really," she said, drawing up a knee and resting her chin on it. "It's not like true love happens everyday, you know."

"I know," he replied.

"Does anyone know how it is we are what we are?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The oldest among us and they're not telling." He looked at her. "How old are you, anyway?"

"3,437."

"Really?" She nodded and he whistled. "How come we haven't found you before now?"

"I live a quiet lifestyle," she replied, letting her hair down and shaking it out, the color changing to blond in her agitation. "I can also change my appearance to be anyone, anytime." He stared at her in surprise.

"You mean you can shape shift?" he asked lamely, already knowing the answer. She nodded, her hair shifting to red.

"If I get agitated or lose focus, I can't control it sometimes." She sighed. "I can also work magic, kick ass in every form of martial arts known to man, cook, and I'm one hell of a hacker."

"Most of us are," he laughed. "We have to be."

"How old are _you_?"

"1,485."

"How is it you know so much about us, Adrian?" He sighed.

"I had someone teach me after I died the first time. I was 35."

"I was 23." He lifted an eyebrow in question. "Snake bite."

"Run through."

"Ouch."

"Yeah." Over the next few days, Dusty spent a lot of time thinking as she worked on the castle computers or she stayed up late, alone in the gardens.

"What's going on, Dusty?" Keith asked, sitting on the stone bench beside her.

"Hmm?"

"You're stewing."

"I'm not stewing. _Lance_ stews. You and I brood."

"Same difference. So what's going on?"

"I've got a chance to give up my immortality and I'm not sure if I want to or not."

"Oh. How come you didn't tell us before?" She shrugged.

"Lance knows, but I made him promise not to tell you guys. I just . . . don't know what I'm going to do, yet."

"Why not?" She shrugged again. They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of the night. "Hey, Dusty. I've got a question."

"What?"

"Don't you ever sleep?" he asked around a yawn. "I have to say that you have me beat at staying awake." Laughing, Dusty nodded.

"Sometimes. Good night, Keith," she said, shooing him off the bench. "You've got practice in the morning--" Right then, the sky brightened as the sun rose. "Never mind: right _now._ Get a move on."

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled. "See you later, Dusty."

"See you." She was surprised when, half an hour later as she was passing the rec room, she heard something unexpected.

"Since last night's dinner had more caffeine than a gallon of coffee," Keith was saying, "how about we all go back to bed?" She laughed at the sleepy cheer that rose on the other side of the door. "Good night, guys."

"Uh-oh," Dusty chuckled. "I'd better get going." With that, she hurried to the control room.

"Hey, Dusty."

"Hey, Pidge," she replied, turning the chair to face him. "No practice today?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nope. Have you got that encryption yet?" She flipped him a disk.

"You've got a week," she told him when he caught it. "If you finish beforehand or need more time, let me know, ok?"

"Will do."

"Usual rules apply, so don't try to cheat."

"Me? Cheat?" he asked, eyes wide in innocence, which didn't fool her a bit.

"Off to bed, Pidge," she chuckled. "Captain's orders."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he muttered and left the control room. Dusty laughed and turned on her laptop, knowing Pidge would go straight to the disk. She decided to watch his progress.

_I don't know about this._

Aren't you tired of living alone, Dusty? Even in a room full of friends, you're alone.

_Don't remind me. It's not like I _enjoy_ it, you know._

Sure seemed like it to me over the last few centuries. You cut yourself off from everyone—

_And my feelings as well. I didn't want to be hurt anymore by watching the people I love die again and again._

If you weren't so damn self-serving, you might've found your true love a _long_ time ago, O Immortal One.

_I found him _twice,_ thank you very much._

He just happened to die both times.

_Remember, _I_ died the first time, too!_

How could I forget?

_Shut up and go away._

You need me.

_Go away._

Not yet, Dusty.

_What do you want?_

To help you come to a decision.

_I don't know what to do anymore._

I know.

_I don't want to be alone anymore._

So don't be.

_It's not that easy._

Maybe you're making it harder than it has to be, Dusty.

_What are you talking about?_

Maybe you should just . . . let go. I mean, you've locked yourself away from your friends and your emotions for most of your life. You've been afraid to let anyone in because of how you'd feel when they died. You forgot how all of those people could make you feel while you were with them: both the bad _and_ the good. When was the last time you talked to a random stranger just because you felt a . . . _little_ connection to them?

_275 years . . . a week from tomorrow._

That was a rhetorical question!

_Don't ask a question if you don't want an answer._

You've got to open up again, Dusty. Otherwise, you'll go on for thousands of years, all alone, with no one to blame but yourself.

_It could take another thousand or so years to find my true love again._

So? At least you'd find it.

_Go away._

Have you come to a decision?

_Yes._

So, what are you going to do?

**AN:** Short chapter, I know, but I got to get the ball rolling somehow. R&R please.


	2. Traps and Explosions

**Disclaimer:** Do I really have to do this with every chapter? I _still_ don't own Voltron and probably never will. Don't sue me.

Shang Yakuza looked up from his perusal of a ship building contract when he felt something he hadn't felt in almost 200 years: another immortal. "Come in," he called when he realized someone was knocking on his office door. His assistant opened the door. "Yes, Keiko?"

"Is everything all right, sir?" she asked, stepping into his office.

"Yes, Keiko, everything's fine. What is it?"

"There's a Dusty Haff here to see you, sir," she said. "Shall I send her in?"

"Absolutely." He sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. The woman who walked through the door was tall, with feminine curves. Her raven black hair fell in glossy waves to well past her waist and framed a face with skin like satin. Her grey eyes, eyes the color of an overcast sky, seemed to hold the secrets only countless centuries on Earth could claim and laughed at everyone's inability to decipher them. "Ms. Haff," he said, inclining his head.

"Mr. Yakuza," Dusty replied, bowing slightly. "I understand you do exquisite work." _I need information._

"Depends on what you would like done," he answered. _What kind of information?_ he asked, gesturing her to a chair. She reached into her coat pocket and slid a disk across the desk.

"Can you build that?" she asked when he pulled up the schematic on his computer. He looked over her designs, impressed. _I need information on immortals,_ she said, leaning back in the chair and crossing her legs. "Or rather, say, about two dozen?"

_Why?_

_I'm over 3,000 years old and I know next to nothing about what I am,_ she replied.

"I can build them," he told her, shrugging a shoulder. "It will take a while to build them to your specifications, but I'm sure it can be done." He paused, studying her. _Meet at The Dragon's Lair in two hours. We'll talk._

"About how long do you think it'll take?" she asked as they stood up. _Thanks._

"Two, maybe three months for a prototype, if we push it," he replied, shrugging his shoulder again. "I'm assuming this isn't a rush job?"

"Not at all."

"Then . . . two years for all twenty four, possibly three years at the most. Depends on how long it takes to get the right supplies in."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Yakuza," she said, shaking his hand. "I don't think supplies will be a problem. If you have any, let me know."

"My pleasure, and thank you," he replied. "We'll discuss payments later this week."

"Sounds good. Until then." With a small bow he returned, she left his office. As Dusty walked back to her hotel, she heard a small noise under a bush. "What the hell?" she asked herself, crouching to look under the bush. A small orange kitten was curled in a ball, shivering, looking at her through amber eyes narrowed into slits. "Hello, sweetie," she said, slowly reaching out her hand. The kitten hissed, but didn't swipe at her.

Making soothing sounds, she picked up the kitten and snuggled it inside her coat. The kitten cuddled closer to her chest, practically crawling into her trying to get warm. "All I've got to worry about now is getting you past the hotel staff," she said to the kitten, chuckling. The kitten, purring, fell asleep curled against her shoulder.

Dusty sipped her drink, stroking the sleeping kitten under the table, watching the people and listening to the conversations going on around her. She closed her eyes and let the atmosphere wash over her. That was the way Shang found her. "Miss Haff," he said, smiling.

"Mr. Yakuza," she replied, not opening her eyes. "Thank you for indulging me."

"I supposed that you wouldn't have come to me if you didn't really need my help."

"You've got me pegged." She sighed, opened her eyes and gestured for him to sit down. "I started this place back in 2001 with some friends of mine."

"I didn't know that."

"Once this place took off, we opened four more: Blue Heaven, Lady Luck, Hidden Treasure and Onshore Breeze."

"Do you still run them?" She nodded.

"Promised to keep it in the family and all that. I try to get in when I can." They sat in silence for a few minutes.

"What would you like to know?"

"How much can you tell me without betraying any universal secrets?" Shang laughed and ordered a drink. They talked for hours, even after The Dragon's Lair closed, exchanging experiences and stories like a couple of old friends. Dusty supposed that's what they were, even if she'd only met him that afternoon. Sometimes, two people just seemed to click like two pieces of a puzzle, and she sensed that's what happened when she walked into his office.

It was well after midnight when Lance went looking for Dusty. She'd gotten back that afternoon, avoiding everyone and locking herself in her room. She hadn't come to dinner and he and the others didn't press the issue. Dusty had her off moods, despite the fact that they didn't show, and they all respected her privacy. He found her in the kitchen, cooking something, as was her habit when she was thinking about something that had been bothering her.

"Where'd you take off to?" Lance asked, boosting himself onto the counter next to her but far enough away so he wouldn't get in her way. "You were gone for almost two weeks."

"I went to see a friend," Dusty replied, mixing the ingredients in the large bowl in front of her. "A very old friend."

"What'd you see this 'friend' for?" Dusty looked up at him, an eyebrow raised.

"Advice. I asked him what he'd do if he could give up his immortality."

"And what'd he say?"

"In a heartbeat." She sighed.

"How old is he?"

"5,648," she replied and he whistled.

"I see you picked up a new friend," he said with a pointed glace at the lump in her coverall pocket. Dusty chuckled and scratched the orange head that poked out.

"Yeah. Cute, isn't he?"

"He's got _that_ going for him, at least," Lance muttered under his breath. She laughed and rubbed the kitten's head.

"You aren't jealous of a _kitten,_ are you?"

"Of course not," he replied petulantly as the kitten gave him a feline smile. Dusty smiled a little as she poured the cake batter into two round pans she'd already greased and floured. "So how about you?" Have you come to a decision yet, Dusty?" Lance asked as she closed the oven after sliding both pans in.

"Not yet," she sighed, taking a seat next to him. "What's the rush? I've got time on my hands, and a hell of a lot of it, at that. However, I've decided to open up to people again and take the years as they come- one day at a time."

"Good plan," he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "What does this friend of yours do?"

"Most notably, he owns Yakuza Ship Yards."

"Hold it! You mean to tell me that Shang Yakuza is an immortal?"

"Yes. I asked him to build me a new ship. Well actually, more than one. More like twelve. If those twelve do well, he'll build twelve more."

"Why?"

"I'm expanding my freight business."

"Reasonable explanation." She looked over at her open laptop: Pidge was still working on the encryption she gave him and had worked himself into a dead end that it was impossible to get out of.

"Hang on." Dusty picked up her laptop and typed a message, deciding to give the poor kid a break.

"One is two, five is five, and eight is seven," he read over her shoulder. "What's that?"

"The solution to the encryption I gave him," she answered smiling. "Let's see how long it takes him to figure it out. He's been at it for almost two weeks now." It took fifteen minutes.

"Are you sure she's going to Bimmisaari?"

"Absolutely sure, sir. They mentioned an official visit to greet the new ambassador."

"Excellent. Plant the bomb and set the timer for five minutes after they land."

"As you wish, sir."

"Do not allow yourself to be caught. If you fail, you will wish you'd never been born. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

The damnable thing about bombs, Dusty decided, was the shrapnel. Pieces of metal that had once been the _Sally Ride_ went spinning through the air like lethal war birds. She was alive, though she wasn't sure if it was blessing or a curse at the moment. Dusty lay on the tarmac, breathing in fumes, stunned, unable to move. Her leg was bleeding and she could see a sliver of metal sticking through her thigh, soaking her pant leg with blood.

She slowly sat up, shoving her hair away from her face and her hand came away bloody. Gritting her teeth, she yanked the piece of metal out of her thigh and tossed it aside. Then she moved, limping, searching for the others. Keith was close by and, aside from being unconscious, he seemed to escape serious injury. _Come on, Keith,_ she said, giving him a shove toward consciousness. _Up you get. We need your help._

_I'm up,_ he replied as his eyelashes fluttered. _I'm up._ Keith sat up slowly, putting a hand to the back of his head.

"Are you all right?" Dusty asked, pulling him to his feet.

"Yes," he answered, taking his hand away: it was clean. "How about you? Are you all right?"

"I'll live."

"Where's everyone else?"

"I'm not sure," she said, shaking her head a little. "I found you first."

"Let's find the others." Keith went one way and Dusty went the other, hoping to find the others before it was too late.

"Are you all right, Lance?" Keith asked, looking his friend over for serious injury. Lance's right leg was broken and he had a large cut over his left eye. "Come on, wake up. Let me know you're home."

"Am I dead?" he asked groggily, opening his eyes a little. "Ugh, unless I'm in hell, I don't want to know."

"You're not dead, Lance," Keith replied. "How're you feeling? You hurt anywhere?"

"My leg, my head and my chest," he said, one hand pressed to his side. Keith moved his hand and saw a deep cut just under his ribs. "Hey, shouldn't there be someone here by now?"

"Should be," Keith agreed. _Dusty, how're you doing?_

_I found Allura and Pidge,_ she replied. _Pidge's in bad shape, but Allura's all right. Just bumps and bruises. Where's Hunk?_

_Still looking,_ he told her. _He's close._

_Hurry, Keith,_ she said quietly. _He's hurt._

Allura looked down at Pidge, who had yet to regain consciousness after their ship had blown up on the tarmac, and rubbed her shoulder, which hurt after being dislocated then put back into place. _Who did this and why?_ she asked herself, brushing some wayward locks of hair off Pidge's forehead. _I'm sorry for all of this, Pidge._

"It's not your fault, you know," Dusty said from the door. Allura turned to look at her. She was leaning against the doorjamb, a bandage wrapped around her leg and another around her head.

"What?"

"Your face is an open book, Princess," Dusty explained, limping to another chair, "and guilt is written all over it."

"How's Hunk?" Allura asked quietly.

"Asking about his little buddy," she replied. "He's really upset that he can't come in and see Pidge."

"I should go see him."

"Yes, you should."

"Who did this, Dusty? Why would they do such a thing?" Dusty sighed heavily.

"I honestly can't answer the first question," she answered, "and the other one's just as difficult." She sighed again. "I wish I could be more helpful, but I won't be able to give you any more answers until I can go over the remains of the ship."

"Is there anything you can do for him, Dusty?" Dusty shook her head slowly.

"I can do very little for him just now. He's got to do most of it on his own. I'm not saying I _won't_ do anything, just that there's not much." Allura, tears swimming in her eyes, nodded and stood. Dusty stood as well and limped around the bed to her side, resting a hand on her shoulder. "You want me to stay with him?"

"Yes," she said, wiping her eyes. "I'm going to see Hunk, then I'm going to get some sleep."

"All right. I'll see you later." As soon as Allura was gone, Dusty shut the door and sat down again. Taking Pidge's hand in her own, being careful not to disturb the IV, she closed her eyes. _Come on, Pidge,_ she called. _You've got to wake up._ Nothing.

Taking a deep breath, she blocked out everything until there was only light and energy. Slowly pushing herself out of her body, she entered Pidge's body, searching for the worst of the damage caused by the bomb and repairing it. _All right now, Pidge,_ she said, turning to the next task. She reached for Pidge, finding him hidden deep within his mind. He wasn't gone; he was just hiding from the pain in his physical body. Sometimes it was better to do nothing, but not this time. If he didn't wake up soon, he never would. _It's time to wake up, Pidge,_ she said firmly.

_It'll hurt,_ Pidge replied, sounding far away.

_Not as much as you think,_ she told him reassuringly. If arguing wouldn't work, maybe cajoling would. _Come on, Pidge. We're really worried about you._

_How long has it been?_

_Three days,_ she answered with a sigh. _Are you all right, Pidge?_

_As all right as I can be._

_You're going to have to wake up sooner or later, you know._

_I know and I will._

_As long as you know._

_Hey, Dusty._

_Yes, Pidge?_

_Am I dreaming?_ Dusty considered lying to him, but she'd done enough of that to all of them, him included.

_No, Pidge, you're not dreaming. Come and see us soon, all right?_ Dusty slowly pulled back out and leaned back in her chair. She glanced at the clock and through bleary eyes, managed to see she'd been out of her body for almost two hours. Trying to stand, she realized that she didn't have the energy, or the inclination to gather it, so she turned in the chair and settled as comfortably as she could before falling asleep, totally drained.

**AN:** Dusty's powers are coming out just a little more, ne? R&R, please. Anyway, on to chapter three!


	3. Discoveries and Revelations

**Disclaimer:** I got to say this is annoying, but I _still_ don't own Voltron and I never will. :grumbles: Evilness.

_She looks so peaceful,_ Lance thought, leaning on the back of the chair she was sleeping in. All the worry lines smoothed away, leaving her face, with the exception of a few faint scars, clear. He chuckled softly when she shifted a little, trying to get more comfortable. "Dusty," he called softly, gently moving a lock of hair that had fallen across her cheek, moving slightly with each breath. "Wake up, Duster."

"Mmph." _Not ready to wake up yet,_ he interpreted, smiling. He shook her shoulder.

"Come on, Duster. It's time to get up.

"Go 'way." Progress: she was using words now.

"Get up, Dusty, or I'll toss you off this chair."

"Try it and I'll break your other leg in so many pieces they won't be able to count them all."

"Sounds fun."

"What's up, Lance? You guys don't wake me up unless it's important."

"Pidge woke up," he told her, smiling as she jolted awake.

"When?" She stretched.

"A few minutes ago," he said, helping her to her feet. Once she was up, she stretched again, a long tendon popping stretch, before shaking it off.

"Hey, Pidge." Pidge opened his eyes and smiled at her. "How're you feeling?"

"Like something cats bury," he muttered.

"Bombs are hell, aren't they?" He laughed along with her for a moment before it turned into a cough.

"Any suspects?"

"Several possibilities, but nothing definitive yet, Pidge. I was waiting for you to wake up before I went over the ship."

"Well, I'm up, now. Get cracking."

"You got it, Pidge," she chuckled, leaning down and kissing his cheek, causing him to blush a bright red. "If you feel up to it later, and if the docs clear it, come on down and give me a hand."

"Really?"

"Between you and me, I'm going to need all the help I can get."

"You got it."

"All right. I'll see you two later. I've got work to do."

"See you, Dusty!" Pidge called as she limped out the door. She paused and winked at him, then kept going.

Dusty looked down at the part on the floor and nudged it into place with her toe. The one in her hands, however, came from the other side. She sighed heavily, and stepping carefully over the parts she'd already placed, she checked the position of the part before adding the next one. She rubbed a kink out of her neck as she surveyed the pile of parts left to be looked over: it was getting progressively smaller, but not as fast as she would've liked. "Oh, well," she muttered, rolling her shoulders and pushing her sleeves past her elbows. "The sooner I finish _this_ part, the quicker I can find out who _did_ it."

"Sounds good to me," Keith said from behind her. She turned to look at him.

"Take another step and risk being put to work," she told him, turning back to the pile.

"Oh, well, since you put it like that," Keith replied and walked over to the pile and began sifting through it.

"I didn't mean it, Keith," she laughed, joining him.

"I did." He glanced at her. "You're not a slave, you know."

"I know." She tossed aside a part that was charred beyond recognition. "Thanks for the help."

"You're welcome," Keith answered, holding up a part. "Where does this go?"

"Over there . . . I think."

"How long have you been at this, Dusty?" She glanced at her watch and winced. "That long. So what've you found out?"

"The bomb was supposed to destroy the ship without hurting anyone."

"A scare tactic?"

"Or a warning. From who or what against, I don't know yet."

"Ideas?"

"Plenty, and each one going nowhere at the moment." She sat down in one of the few empty spots left, stretching her legs out in front of her and rubbing her injured thigh.

"Hurts?"

"A little," she replied. "It aches when I'm on my feet for too long."

"Tell you what. You stay there for a while, and I'll keep working."

"Now _that's_ a plan," Dusty said, smiling. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Even with Keith's help, by midnight the pile of parts was still huge.

"Who knew a ship came in this many parts?" Lance asked, hobbling into the hangar on crutches.

"Impressive pile, isn't it?" Dusty replied, hauling herself to her feet. "How's Pidge?"

"Feeling much better and is currently trying to come down here," he said, smiling a little.

"Good to hear."

"I'm knocking off for tonight," Keith said around a yawn. "I'll see you guys later."

"Good night, Keith. Sleep well," Dusty answered as the doors closed.

"Thanks." Dusty felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end as the door opened again. She slowly turned, ready for anything, but was totally unprepared for who she saw.

"I see you've gotten yourself into trouble again, Dusty. I can't leave you alone for five minutes, can I?"

"D- Dayan?" Lance studied him closely, receiving an immediate impression of sheer power. It was impossible to tell his age; his face looked timeless. Physically, he was almost beautiful, in a purely masculine way, like the Greek statues of their gods.

"Good to see that you recognize me," he said, striding toward them, tall, elegant, power personified. His body rippled with- what seemed to be- barely leashed strength. Power oozed from his every pore. His blue-black hair was pulled back and held with a tie at the nape of his neck. The harsh planes and angles of his face seemed carved of granite. His mouth held latent sensuality and a hint of cruelty. His emerald green eyes took in everything down to the smallest detail, yet never left Dusty's face.

"You know this guy?" Lance asked, glancing at Dusty. Dayan moved silently, like a stalking panther, stopping in front of Dusty. The green eyes at once rested on Lance's face. Lance involuntarily shivered beneath the icy gaze. It was like looking into the eyes of death itself. Lance felt as if the stranger could read his every thought and was judging him as worthy or unworthy- and that his life might very well be hanging in the balance.

"Who's he?" Dayan wanted to know, jerking his thumb at Lance.

"Dayan, this is Lance," she said, stepping back from him, from the both of them. "Lance, Dayan."

"Who is this guy?" Lance demanded.

"It's complicated, Lance," she answered, rubbing the back of her neck with one hand as the other pinched the bridge of her nose. "Can we not get into this now?"

"If not now, then when?"

"Is he bothering you, Dusty?" Dayan interjected, looking like he would like nothing more than to throw Lance out of the hangar, crutches or not.

"No, but _you_ are," she replied testily. "Leave us, Dayan. I'll speak with you later."

"Are you sure? I could--"

"Go!" He nodded once stiffly and left.

"Who was that?"

"He was, uh, my protector 30 years ago."

"Like a bodyguard?"

"Something like that."

"Why didn't you tell me about him?"

"I never thought he'd show up, Lance."

"He's been following you around for thirty years, Dusty. Did you really think that he wouldn't find you?"

"No, of course not," Dusty said reasonably, "and he has _not_ been following me for thirty years."

"You didn't tell me about him because you _still_ don't trust me, isn't that right?"

"That's not true at all."

"Really? Then why haven't said anything about him before?"

"I didn't think it was important."

"You mean to tell me that you didn't think a seven foot tall _bodyguard_ was important!"

"No, and he's only 6'11"."

"What the hell is going on here, Dusty?"

"What are you yelling at me for? He was my bodyguard 30 years ago, nothing more. I didn't tell you about him because I didn't feel it was necessary to do so and I fully expected to never see him again." She turned the full force of her glare on him and he took an instinctive step back when he actually saw lightning in her eyes. "I'm not going to stand here arguing the past when the present is a _little_ more pressing." She turned back to the pile of parts.

"We're not finished, Dusty."

"Right now we are. Unless you're helping, I suggest you leave. Now." Crippled or not, she was ready to do some serious damage. She imagined her anger clenched in her fists, trapped there, contained and controlled. When she was sure he was gone, she strode over to the wall and drove her fist into it as hard as she could. Pulling back, she did it again then once more for good measure. Turning back to the pile, she worked steadily until almost noon when she finally hit the last part. After putting it in its place, she left the hangar to find the nearest bed, glad she'd left the cats at home.

"Where was it?" Allura asked as she stood with the others in the hangar just after dinner that night.

"Here," Dusty said, standing over the spot, "in the crew lounge. It was wired to go off a few minutes after we landed." She sighed. "Hunk and Pidge took the worst of it because they were the last down the ramp. When the bomb went off, the fire burst the oxygen tanks."

"That was the second explosion," Keith commented and Dusty nodded.

"Cracked heat shield. I'm still not sure _who_ did this, though."

"Who had access to the ship before it left?" Pidge asked from his wheel chair.

"Only about every technician in the castle," she replied dryly.

"How many?"

"500 or so." Dusty pushed both hands through her hair. "Going to be really busy for a while." She looked at Allura. "Can we go home now? Please?"

"Sure," she nodded. "We're going to need a ride."

"Got it covered," Dusty assured her and strode out of the hangar. "Stow it, Dayan," she said when she saw him leaning against the wall across from the door.

"What'd I say?" he asked, wisely holding up both hands in self-defense.

"It's on your face," she said, "and I don't want- or need- to hear it right now."

"You'll have to hear it sooner or later," he replied reasonably.

"I prefer later. Go away." He fell into step beside her. "What're you going here anyway, Dayan?"

"You need me."

"I told you thirty years ago, I don't need a babysitter."

"Of course you don't," he commented sarcastically with a pointed glance at the growing red stain on the bandage around her leg.

"It's nothing," she said, catching his look and waving a hand in dismissal.

"Then why are you limping?" She didn't say anything. "Why haven't you had it looked at yet?"

"A reminder. I was careless. If I'd been more prepared, the bomb would never have caused the damage it did."

"Dusty, you once told me that no one, not anyone, can save everyone or prepare for every eventuality." He actually saw lightning in her eyes when she glared at him. "You must not take the blame for something that's outside your control."

"I thought I told you to stow it," she mumbled under her breath. He obligingly said nothing more, knowing she was thinking it over. Early the next day, one of Dusty's other personal ships, _Queen of Nights_, arrived to take them back to Arus. What was left of the _Sally Ride_ was being sold for scrap, except the parts that Dusty wanted to keep, knowing some might be useful. Dusty looked over the entire ship herself from bow to stern, inside and out, until she was sure everything was as it should be before allowing anyone on board. She wasn't surprised to find all three cats waiting for her in her cabin.

_Who's this Dayan character?_ Proton asked as soon as they were off the ground.

"Not you, too," Dusty groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I figured I'd get some measure of understanding from you three."

_I don't know what to think of him, Dusty,_ Proton replied by way of apology, leaping into Dusty's lap and purring soothingly.

"What _can_ I say about him?" She lay back on her bunk. Proton stretched across her stomach with her head on her paws, Neutron and Electron on either side of Proton. "He's loyal, dependable, and always ready to lend a hand wherever it was necessary."

_Sounds like a nice guy,_ Electron said, his head on Proton's side. They'd obviously made peace while she was away.

"He is, at that," Dusty conceded, "but there's something about him. I don't understand what it is, but I'm not entirely sure it's a good thing." Dayan was waiting for the ship when it landed. "Are you _still_ following me?" Dusty asked irritably as she came down the ramp.

"Obviously," Dayan replied.

"Go away, Dayan. Like I said before, I don't need a babysitter."

"Who said I'm here as your babysitter?"

"Then why are you here?" Dayan sighed heavily.

"I need your help," he said finally.

"With what?"

"Isn't it odd that I haven't aged a day since you last saw me? You haven't either for that matter. Don't you find that strange at all?"  
"Not really," Dusty replied with a shrug. "If it worries you that much, though, I know someone you should see."

"Who?"

"Don't worry. Just tell him I sent you, all right?"

"All right." Dayan looked like he'd been railroaded and Dusty sympathized with him.

"I'll talk to you later." She put him on the ship and spoke with the pilot for a few minutes.

"What was that all about?" Lance asked after the ship was out of sight.

"I think Dayan's an immortal and has only just found out," Dusty replied, smiling a little. "He'll need a little adjustment time, but I think he'll be all right."

"So that's why he came to you?"

"Yup, that's why." They were silent for a few moments. "Put your foot in it again?"

"Chronic foot-in-mouth disease," he agreed, resigned. "I'll need surgery to get it out this time." Dusty laughed.

"That's all right. I forgive you." They turned to walk into the castle. "Do you know where I can find an empty room with a lot of windows?" she asked suddenly.

"Why?"

"It's kind of important."

"I think I've got just the one," he said after a few moments of thought.

Dusty managed to talk Allura out of the tower room Lance had shown her and she converted it into a studio. Allura, after seeing some of her preliminary sketches, commissioned her to do several paintings: one of each of them alone and one of them all together. She agreed and before she put a drop of paint on the canvas, she made sketch after sketch, trying to capture not only their faces but also their personalities and who they were on the inside as well. After almost a month, Dusty had the sketches spread out on her worktable, trying to decide which ones to use. The cats were there, the kittens, at least, doing their best to scatter the sketches all over the floor. "What do you guys think?" Dusty asked, scooping Neutron away from an open tube of green paint, wincing a little when his claws pierced through her shirt.

_These ones,_ Proton replied, touching her choices with a paw.

_No, these ones,_ Electron objected, doing the same.

"Neutron, what do you think?" Neutron, ever the peace maker, jumped from her shoulder to the worktable and pointed out his choices, two of Proton's, two of Electron's and one of his own. "Good choices."

_How's the investigation going?_ Proton asked as Dusty gathered the other sketches and put them in a drawer.

"A young man named Xris planted the bomb, but didn't say why or who paid him to do it," she replied, capping two mason jars of turpentine. "I traced the wire transfer through five non-existent banks to a dummy account on Earth. Whoever this person is, he's covered his tracks very well." She sighed. "I've got a tracer program running, but it hasn't turned up anything so yet."

_Anything else?_ Neutron wanted to know, sensing she was holding something back.

"I've reencrypted all the castle data and have a trace on any incoming or outgoing message."

_All of them?_ Electron squeaked in surprise.

"All of them," Dusty answered, picking up a brush and her pallet. "There's not much else I can do just now."

_I sense a but,_ the cats said together.

"Except the one thing I'd rather not do," she muttered, swirling the brush in paint.

_What's that?_

"Mercenary. I'm saving it as a last resort." She began painting. "Let's hope I never have to use it."

"Could she be more than an immortal?" Lance asked Neutron as they sat watching Dusty throw three throwing knives at a circle about six inches in diameter on a two by four some sixty feet away, a blindfold over her eyes. _Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!_ One right after another, they all stuck in the circle, quivering with the force of the throw.

_What do you mean, Lance?_ Neutron asked in return, leaning into Lance's hand as he scratched his ears.

"I mean, do you think she could be--" He cut himself off, knowing it was absurd.

"A goddess?" Dusty inquired, calling her knives back to her hand. Lance shrugged and Neutron had the grace to look a little sheepish, even though she couldn't see him. "I thought of that," she said, throwing one knife at a time. _Thwack! Thwack. Thwack!_ "I doubt it. I can control the weather, but I can't bring other people back from the dead. I'm still not entirely sure how _I_ do it." Electron looked up at her from his position at her feet.  
_ Dusty, you should know better than to question a gift,_ he gently scolded her, shaking his head at her, _especially one as rare as this one._ He licked a paw and washed over his ear.

"I know that, kitten," she replied, rubbing him with one foot. _Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!_ "However, there's no real way to explain it."

_Then maybe you shouldn't try,_ Proton suggested from her spot in between Lance and Neutron. Lance stroked her and she leaned into his hand.

"Good idea, Proton," she answered, calling the daggers back one last time before taking the blindfold off. "So what happens now?"

"It's up to you, Dusty," Lance said, shrugging one shoulder. "You told me that you want to take the years one day at a time. Don't stop now."

"I don't plan to," she told him, sitting down so that she faced him. "I just wish I knew who planted the bomb on my ship."

"You don't think--"  
"O'Brian? It's possible. I put the man in prison not once but twice, beat the shit out of him and left him hanging high and dry as far as business contacts go."

_You should probably check on that,_ Neutron said, laying a paw on Proton's twitching tail. _Quit it,_ he told her when she turned to look at him._ It's tickling my nose._

_Sorry about that, kitten,_ Proton replied, but Dusty could tell that she wasn't the least bit apologetic. Electron climbed to her shoulder and she stood with a sigh.

"Where are you going?" Lance asked, standing as well.

"I'm going to check on O'Brian," she replied, stretching. She turned to leave the room, then looked at the knives in her hand. With a shrug, she threw them one last time, over her shoulder. _Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!_

"You've _got_ to teach me how you do that," Lance said, shaking his head as they all stuck, quivering, in the circle.

"Maybe next time, Lance," she replied, leaving them there. "I'll see you in a bit."

"If you say so," he muttered as she turned down the hall to her room, the cats trailing after her. "Good luck, Dusty."

"Thanks, Lance," she called over her shoulder. She stopped before going in. "You want to check this out with me?"

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Absolutely," she replied with a nod. He followed her into her room and sat on the edge of the bed as she dug her laptop out of her duffel bag and set it up on the desk. As it booted up, she sat down beside him.

"Do you think you can find anything out about him?" he asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Shouldn't be that hard," she said with a careless shrug. She began typing, humming under her breath as the information scrolled down the screen, the words moving so fast that Lance couldn't keep up.

"What are you humming?"

"Beatles," she replied, scanning the screen.

"Who?"

"That actually hurts," she muttered, rubbing her chest. "That's painful." She pressed a button that froze the screen. "Look at that. He escaped not long after we sent him back."

"How long?"

"Within a few hours," she answered, rubbing the back of her neck. "He certainly moved quickly."

"I guess," he said, his hand joining hers, easing the knots from her neck. Dusty closed her eyes and her chin dropped. "Feel better?"

"Much better," she mumbled.

"How'd you read that so fast?"

"Training," she said, leaning back into his hand. "Little lower, right between the shoulder blades."

"Carry a lot of tension there, I take it?"

"You wouldn't believe it." She paused as the knots loosened. "You're awfully good at this."

"I'm awfully good at a lot of things," he replied with a sly smile.

"I walked into that one, I guess," she muttered. "No wandering hands, Lance."

"That hurts," he said, making her laugh.


	4. Nox Noctis Est Nosri

**Disclaimer:** Here we go again. You know the drill folks, so why do I have to keep typing it?

"What the hell is that?" Pidge asked the next day, looking over Dusty's shoulder as she worked.

"This is a spider," she replied, typing a few commands. "It's a nice little program. It'll get through every file in your computer, fetching anything it's programmed to get, and get out again without you ever knowing it was in your computer."

"That _is_ nice," he said, taking a seat next to her. "How many have you made?"

"More than enough," she laughed. "I've had to destroy them, too. I learned this from a really great hacker back in 1997. He taught me how to create them and get rid of them."

"Have you ever created a stealth spider?"

"That's what this one is," she told him, leaning back in her chair with a sigh.

"What's it for?"

"Fun, really. Just wanted to see if I could still do it."

"Looks like you can," Pidge said, impressed. "Come on, really, what's it for?"

"I'm planning on sending it through O'Brian's business files," she answered. "I want to know what he's been up to in the last several years." She pressed several buttons, the quiet click of the keys the only sound in the room for several moments.

"Can't you do that legally?"

"Not without having to go several layers of red tape."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"It could take years, and I'm not sure we have that long."

"Why? What's going on?"

"O'Brian might be responsible for the bomb on Bimmisaari."

"Are you sure?"  
"He blew up one of my other ships, as well," she said and told him the story.

"Why haven't you said anything about this before?"

"I didn't think they were connected until about an hour ago." She sighed again. "I found out that he escaped from prison about six months ago. He's been . . . mad at me ever since I put him in there twice."

"Twice? Boy, he must've really annoyed you."

"No, Pidge, he pissed me off."

"I guess so." He paused before asking, "So when are you sending it to him?"

"It's already been there and come back."

"Wow! What'd you get?"

"His entire hard drive."

"How'd you do that?"

"Sorry, I can't tell you that. I can't disclose that kind of information without knowing what you're going to with it."

"You're no fun, Dusty," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting.

"I know," she said, "but don't worry, Pidge. I'll probably give it to you eventually."

"When I'm old, gray and too senile to use it," he groused, making her laugh.

"Would you like to help me go through all this?" she asked after a few minutes of typing.

"What are you looking for?"

"Whatever stands out," she replied with a sigh. "He was a smuggler, so most of his business deals are under the table. It's the ones above the table that I want more information on."

"Why not the other stuff?"

"I know whom he was dealing with," she said, pushing a hand through her hair. "He dealt mostly with one of my companies, or companies I worked for. It was never hard to figure out what he was going to do with the supplies or money." She copied the information on a disk and gave it to him. "The other deals are ones I either didn't know about, or people I had no connection with." She smiled at him. "That's saying something, Pidge, because I know pretty much every smuggler out there."

"Even the new ones?" he asked in amazement.

"_Especially_ them, Pidge," she replied, chuckling. "They're the ones that need the most watching. They have a tendency to get into trouble."

"What exactly am I looking for?" he wanted to know, looking at the disk.

"You'll know when you find it," she answered cryptically. Pidge pored over the information that Dusty had given him, working steadily for days. He stopped and scribbled some notes on a pad he kept beside his computer. The notes were written in his cryptic shorthand that Dusty seemed to have no trouble deciphering. He handed the notes over to her every morning and she gave hers to him. Hers were in longhand for his benefit, as her shorthand seemed, to him at least, to be written in Egyptian.  
Turning the page, he sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. This wasn't as easy as he'd thought it was going to be. Even with both of them working together, they had found nothing. Whatever it was they were looking for, it probably wasn't in his business files. Pidge was determined to find it, wherever it was. _Whatever it is I'm looking for,_ he thought to himself, getting up to pace for a moment. He sat, but got up again when there was a knock on the door. "What?" he demanded, irked at the interruption. Dusty was on the other side. "Oh. Hey."

"Hey, Pidge," she said, hiding a smile. "How would you like to get out for a while?"

"I thought we had to get through this," he replied, though the prospect of getting away from it for a while held tremendous appeal.

"We do, but I'm stuck," she admitted with a shrug. "I just have to get out of here and away from this for a while. You must be as tired of looking at a computer screen as I am by now, so let's go somewhere."

"Where?"

"It doesn't matter. Just out." She sighed. "Someplace where we can get this crap out of our heads for an hour or two."

"Make it three and you've got a deal."

"Three hours, then," she laughed. She raised an eyebrow as she looked him over. "You might want to consider a shower first."

"Huh?" He looked down at himself and grimaced. "You're right. I'm not fit company for man or beast just now."

"I'll come back in twenty minutes," she said, managing to keep a straight face. "If you're not ready, I'm going without you."

"Thanks, Dusty," he replied, smiling. Her lips curved in answer.

"Twenty minutes," she reminded him and left. He closed the door and bolted for the shower. True to her word, Dusty was at his door twenty minutes later. "Much better," she said when he stepped out.

"I _feel_ better."

"Well, good." She kissed his cheek, making him blush. "I'm taking you out."

"I still owe you," he protested weakly.

"This one's on me, Pidge," she told him, "and I'm not taking no for an answer. Deal with it."

"All right," he said, managing to sound put upon and abused. She laughed delightedly.

"Aren't you the least bit curious as to where we're going?"

"I don't really care, as long as it's away from all things technical."

"I agree." She tucked her arm through his and led him down the halls to the main doors. "Are you sure you're ready?"

"If you keep asking, I'm going to change my mind."

"All right, all right. I was just making sure."

"So where are we going, anyway?"

"I knew you'd get around to asking that," she chuckled, but said nothing more.

"Come on, Dusty. Where are we going?"

"Do you like hiking?"

"Not really, no. Why?"

"Just making conversation." She looked up at the sky for a moment, sensing something, but not able to place it, so she shook it off. There was nothing to be done about it just now.

"A little hint?" She laughed and shook her head. Pidge had never been more entertained, both by the evening out itself and the stories she'd told him as they sat in an exclusive restaurant on the edge of one of the many lakes near the castle. The view from their table had been spectacular, the food was amazing, and so was the company. She'd answered almost every question he'd asked about her past, straying away from certain subjects and, to keep the night as peaceful as possible, he'd allowed it even though he burned with curiosity. He answered her questions, even the ones about his family, which were still painful if he thought about them too much.

As they'd walked back, Dusty had become quiet and let him do most of the talking, often coming to a complete stop for a moment before continuing. They were close to the castle when suddenly she just froze. "Hang on," she said during one such stop, holding up her hand to keep him quiet. Dusty closed her eyes and breathed deeply, taking in the sounds and scents of the night. Trees, grass, water . . . danger. Something wasn't right out there. "Do you feel anything?" She asked the question without thinking, but she realized she didn't want to tell him to forget it. Pidge paused before answering, stretching his senses as far as they would go, which he admitted wasn't far.

"No." Then the threat wasn't directed at anyone but her. "What's going on?"

"I don't know, and I don't like it," she replied, moving to place him behind her. "Something's out here, Pidge."

"What?"

"I don't know. Go inside." She hated to treat him like a child, but whatever was out there was dangerous, potentially lethal, and she couldn't take the chance of something happening to him. She'd never forgive herself if something happened to him or any of the others because of her.

"But--"

"Go. Inside." She looked ready to pounce, muscles tensed and waiting for the command to spring. He almost felt sorry for whatever or whoever it was: she wouldn't stop until the threat was identified and taken care of.

"All right." He stepped back. "Be careful."

"I will. Go, now." Pidge hated to do it, but he left her there, knowing if he stayed, she wouldn't be able to do what she had to do.

"Good luck," he whispered as he went inside. She heard and smiled briefly. The smile faded as soon as she heard the doors shut behind him.

_What's going on, Dusty?_ Lance asked, feeling her unrest.

_There's something's out here._

_What?_

_I don't know yet, but I'm going to find out._ She shape shifted, crept forward on padded paws, belly to the ground. She sniffed the air, ears and whiskers twitching. A faint breeze brought a strange scent to her and she slowly turned to catch it better. It was . . . different, but how different she didn't yet know. She headed for the nearest trees and made the seven-foot jump to the lower limbs with ease. Dusty stretched her body and waited, having learned infinite patience from the leopards of Africa.

An unnatural shadow crept toward her position. She tensed again, waiting for just the right moment before she dropped out of the tree. Long moments passed, each beat of her heart seeming loud in her ears, while she waited. Almost lazily, she dropped out of the tree onto her target, her fangs finding and holding his throat without crushing it. Her prey held completely still, not struggling, completely submissive. _It's nice to see you, too, Dusty,_ a voice said in her mind.

_Julian, what the hell are you doing here?_ Dusty asked, without letting go, more annoyed than angry with him. She'd known Julian for more years than he remembered, and the threat of danger hadn't faded. He wasn't the one she was looking for, so she had to get him out of there as soon as she could manage it.

_I was coming to see you,_ he replied, his voice quaking nervously, _but I've changed my mind since my welcome came into doubt. Are you going to let me up?_ Dusty sighed, and eased her grip on his throat, growling deep in her own as she backed up and shape shifted again. "You look fantastic, Dusty."

"Shut up and give me one good reason why I shouldn't have ripped your throat out."

"So rude, and after I came all this way to see you."

"Why are you here?" she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. He sighed, knowing he'd catch hell from her if he didn't answer up.

"Do you know a guy named O'Brian?" he asked, resisting the urge to rub his throat where her teeth had been only moments before.

"I knew I should have killed him when I had the chance."

"I can see that you two have some unresolved issues."

"Get to the point," she snapped, almost at the end of her considerable patience.

"Pushy, always pushy." Julian pushed a hand through his hair and sighed. "He seems to be causing some high level tension among the NightWalkers."

"How can he do that?"

"I know you know every NightWalker that ever lived, Dusty, even living on the edge of the universe as you did for . . . what, twenty years?" She nodded and he continued. "The point is, Dusty, he's got some very high underworld connections and is using them to his advantage."

"What about Darius?" she wanted to know, taking in the messages of the wind.

"Darius is going to ignore him as long as he can, but eventually something will have to be done about either him or you."

"_Nox noctis est nosri_," she muttered under her breath and he nodded. _The night is ours._ "Why wasn't I told about this?" Julian shrugged.

"We didn't know about it until recently." He sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. "You created the NightWalkers," he said, putting his hands in his pockets. "You gave us all a home when we needed one. The fact that Darius is even _considering_ listening to O'Brian means he poses a serious threat. Not only to you, but to the NightWalkers as well." Dusty was quiet: Darius posed a threat to her, too. He'd stop at nothing to get her out of the way so he could truly lead the NightWalkers. Then again, all the NightWalkers knew of Darius' lust for power and were doing their best to combat it, but only some of them were fully trained.

She'd created the NightWalkers when she found out that someone she'd considered a friend had been experimenting on psychics to give them more and greater powers. For most of them, more power had meant loss of control. They couldn't tolerate being around people and their volatile emotions for long periods of time, which prevented them from leading a normal life. Almost all of them spent their time at her mountain home, Raven's Peak. It was so isolated from almost every city and no one who didn't know it was there would come looking for it, which made it the perfect place for them to rest and learn to control their powers. The rooms themselves were shielded, blocking out any intruding noise, giving them a break from having to use their powers to hold back the emotional energy that flooded into them when they were outside the walls. It limited them, but the NightWalkers were happy with the arrangement, and she was working on a way for them to be able to shield themselves so they could go out for longer periods or even leave completely without strain or emotional overload.

"So why not do something about O'Brian?" she asked finally, breaking the silence.

"He's been . . . hard to find."

"Even for NightWalkers?"

"Even for us." Dusty swore, long and vicious under her breath. If the NightWalkers couldn't find him, he _definitely_ had some serious high-level help.

"Do you need help?" she asked after a long pause.

"_I'd_ appreciate it," he said, "but I don't think Darius will. He's determined to take care of this on his own."

"Don't worry about Darius." Julian nodded, knowing better than to say anything when she had that look in her eyes. Dusty was the only person in the universe that Darius truly feared. Nothing and no one could shake his unflappable calm, but when Dusty looked like she did now, he actually cowered in front of her. Even though she'd let Darius take a more active role in the day to day running of the NightWalkers, which Julian had always thought was a bad idea, Dusty was still the acknowledged leader. It frustrated Darius that he could do nothing about it, though he was careful to hide his feelings from everyone, including Dusty, but she knew they were there.

Dusty tensed up again, the threat much closer now than it was before. She'd been keeping track of it, even while talking to Julian, and it was more direct now. Whatever or whoever it was, was definitely here for her. "You feel anything, Julian?"

"Something's not right here," he replied after a moment, his hand moving without seeming to do it, to the knife he had in a sheath strapped between his shoulder blades.

"No, Julian," she said, putting a hand on his to stop him. "This is mine."

"Are you sure?" She nodded and he dropped his hand.

"I can handle it."

"What is it?" She shrugged, the threat still vague, but it was still there. "Dusty--" She was gone. One moment, she was there, real and solid in front of him, the next she was gone without a trace. He admired it, but that didn't mean it couldn't frustrate the hell out of him. He climbed the tree she'd dropped out of, knowing it would be better if he stayed out of her way and made himself a harder target to hit.

Back in the form of a leopard, she followed the scent again. She was getting closer, she knew it, and she tamped down the rush of adrenaline. Dusty sent her mind seeking ahead of her, hoping to identify the threat. Nothing: there wasn't enough of an energy spike for her to follow back to the source. _Damn it,_ she thought, her curling her lips in a silent snarl, even though she knew it was a waste of energy.

At that moment, she was so much a leopard, so much animal and instinct, she never knew whether it was the leopard or her that reacted. She sensed the dark shadow reaching for her just as the attack came. She tried to roll, to take the oncoming blow on her shoulder. The pain was intense as the knife ripped through her shoulder to the bone. Instantly she cut off feeling to the area even as she melted out from under her attacker, shape shifting as she did so. She faced her attacker in human form, blood streaming from her wound, her hair a midnight mane around her face. "That was dirty," she said as blood dripped down her arm, "coming from behind."

"First blood," came the reply from somewhere off to her left, "is mine."

"Don't think you snuck up on me." She kept her voice calm, steady, while she tracked him. She remained alert; her body relaxed and ready, on the balls of her feet, her mind scanning the areas around her, even the skies. Another attack came from her right and she sidestepped him, a deceptively lazy movement when she actually blurred with speed. Her attacker sprang to his feet behind her, snarling when he realized he'd missed his target. Dusty stood where she was, trying to identify the man five feet away from her. "Will," she said, raising an eyebrow at him. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he demanded. "I'm going to kill you."

"I doubt that," she replied, allowing sarcasm into her tone. "I _seriously_ doubt that, Will."

"You told us never to doubt ourselves, Dusty," he answered, smiling coldly.

"I don't doubt myself, Will. Just you."

"I don't doubt myself, either, Dusty." He attacked. To Julian's eyes, they both moved so fast that they were a blur of motion until they drew apart. They both stood, breathing hard, Will bleeding from several places, Dusty bleeding from several more.

"You've gotten better, Will," she observed with grudging respect.

"So have you," he replied, panting.

"You've still got much to learn."

"Not as much as you think," he growled, diving at her again. She waited for him, waited for the last possible moment to make her move. As he closed on her, she grabbed his shirt and dropped to the ground, taking him with her. She shifted, once again into a leopard, claws extended as she raked them down his belly. Will screamed in pain and tried to escape, but she turned them both over and held his throat between her fangs, squeezing tight, but taking care not to sever any arteries.

_Still as rash as ever, I see, Will,_ she said, tamping down on the leopard's instincts to crush his windpipe. _You've got to control those urges, or you could very well end up dead._ She dropped a heavy paw on his arm to keep him from reaching for the knife on his hip, squeezing even tighter. _I wouldn't suggest that, Will. You'd be dead before it cleared the sheath._

_What the hell are you, Dusty?_ His vision was rapidly going black as she slowly deprived him of oxygen. _You can't be human._

_I'm human, all right,_ she told him quietly. _Just of a different kind than you._ As he passed out, she planted the compulsion in his head that he would forget what she'd just said, or think it a delusion caused by lack of oxygen. She planted it deeply and solidly into his mind. He'd never know it was there and it couldn't be removed even if anyone _did_ find it. Letting go of his throat was harder than she thought it would be, for with the loss of blood, she was unable to fully control the instincts of the leopard. Dusty changed back again, her muscles screaming in protest at the move.

She stumbled and would have fallen if Julian hadn't caught her. "Are you all right?" he asked, not liking how pale she'd become.

"I need to heal," she replied, her vision swimming. "Take care of Will. Get him out of here." Taking a deep breath, she sealed off the worst of Will's wounds, but left him with scars that he'd remember for a long time.

"What do you want me to do with him?" He waited until she was finished to ask.

"Take him to Nicolas," she told him, her voice and face frigid. "He failed: Nicolas will know what to do with him." Nicolas was also one of her strongest supporters, besides Julian himself and several others. "If Nicolas isn't aware of what's going on within the NightWatchers, bring him up to speed." _I've spent too much time away,_ she muttered with a sigh.

"You got it, Dusty," he said, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her on her feet. "What about you?" _You can always come back, Dusty,_ he replied evenly, but she shook her head.

"I'll be all right," she answered as Lance and Keith came running toward them. _Now's not the time, Julian._

"Are you all right, Dusty?" Lance asked, taking in her ripped and bloodstained clothes, as well as the stranger with his arm around her.

"They don't hurt," she told him, reaching a hand out to him. He took it and pulled her to him. Julian let go, knowing she was going to him for his benefit.

"They don't hurt _now,_" Keith corrected, supporting her other side. She nodded her thanks to him.

"It's straight to the infirmary for you, Dusty," Lance said, already starting to head back to the castle.

"I'll be fine, Lance," she protested weakly. "Really, it's just a few scratches." _Get going, Julian._

_You're the boss,_ he laughed, getting a huge kick out of her being carried away by the other two men. If she wanted to, she could get there faster than all of them, but was letting them carry her: she was too tired to try teleporting, and that was telling enough.

_If you want to keep working for me, you'll wipe that smirk off your face and do what I told you to do._

_I've always said you were pushy,_ he grumbled, but got going. He didn't want to be on the receiving end of her ire, so he picked up Will and carried him to his ship. Julian managed to get in contact with Nicolas, who agreed to meet him at one of Dusty's many properties.

**AN:** NightWalkers, huh? Odd folks for an immortal to hang out with, ne? R&R, please.


	5. Date and Conversation

**Disclaimer:** Come on, guys, this is getting boring. Voltron is _still_ not mine. Some weird space-time continuum thing is keeping me from owning it, I know it!

Dusty closed her eyes and sighed as Dr. Gorma left the room. He'd cleaned and bandaged her cuts and made noise about stitching them closed and making sure she had no broken bones, but she knew he wouldn't: there was no point. If any bones were broken, she'd fix it much faster than he ever could and he knew it. Lance sat in the chair beside the bed, fuming at her. "Were you planning on telling me what that was all about?" he asked, causing her to open her eyes.

"It was a test," she answered, barely managing to keep the pain from her voice, "and yes, I was going to tell you."

"Of what?"

"My strength."

"Why?"

"Darius sent him," she said simply, closing her eyes again. She focused inward and began sealing her many cuts from the inside out. It took her longer than she would have liked, but she still managed to get the job done. She was exhausted, so she couldn't rush the healing and miss something potentially important. The result of that was that she was more tired than when she began, but she'd be fine with some sleep.

"Who are they?"

"NightWalkers."

"What?"

"NightWalkers. A group of protectors, almost like a police force, but not quite."

"How 'not quite' is not quite?"

"Boy, are you full of questions tonight," she muttered around a yawn. "They're all telepathic in one way or another, sometimes even several. They were experimented on, and when the experiment was over, they needed someplace to go, something to give them direction."

"And you provided that," he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Why wouldn't I? They were as adrift as I was at the time. It gave us all something to focus on." He was quiet and she used his thinking time to take a short nap.

"So why would they come after you?"

"O'Brian," she replied, coming awake quickly. "Seems he's been making trouble in the underworld, and from there, making trouble for the NightWalkers." She yawned again. "Can we continue this later? I'm totally wiped."

"Sure thing. Get some sleep." He settled in the chair.

"You're staying?" she asked in surprise.

"Damn straight," he told her, crossing his legs at the ankles. "I'm not going anywhere until you wake up."

"That's sweet, Lance. Almost romantic."

"Oh, shut up."

"You could be in for a long wait," she warned, closing her eyes again. It was getting too difficult to keep them open.

"I thought I told you to shut up." She smiled and went to sleep, the smile still on her lips.

_She wasn't kidding,_ Lance thought as he stretched in his chair. He'd been sitting in that chair for going on two days, and she showed no signs of waking soon. Dusty could stay awake longer and sleep deeper than anyone he knew. He looked over at her: she lay as if dead. It had terrified him for a moment before he remembered that she was immortal. That was still a difficult concept for him to grasp, but he was getting there. He wasn't immortal, so it was difficult to believe that she couldn't die even though he'd watched Keith shoot her through the heart and Keith never missed. Sure, she'd staggered a little, but she'd straightened after a minute like nothing had happened.

There was also the fact that she'd died after getting stabbed in back by her supposed best friend who left her for dead in the garden. Lance had held her hand as she'd slipped away, not knowing that she could come to mean so much to him in such a short time. He'd heard of love at first sight- who hadn't? - but he'd never believed it until he met her. She'd stepped out of her lion and a little bell went off- _ping!_- and that was it for him. He'd been toast from moment one. It was only after they'd buried her that he realized it, and her sudden reappearance was . . . disturbing to say the least.

He'd gone with her to save Charlie mostly to try and sort out his feelings, but they were as chaotic as ever. He didn't know how much Dusty cared about him, either: she was friendly with him, but she was friendly with Pidge and Hunk, too. What the hell was he going to do? Not only with his feelings, but also about her? She was immortal, and if she _did_ have feelings for him, she'd outlive him anyway, never getting any older and he'd probably end up resenting her for that.

"Would you stop thinking so loud?" Dusty griped without opening her eyes. "You're broadcasting loud enough to wake the dead." She opened her eyes and looked up at him.

"Sorry," he apologized, blushing slightly. He didn't know he'd been broadcasting, which probably meant that she'd heard or read every thought.

"I know you have barriers," she said as she slowly sat up, allowing each muscle to wake up after having been slept on for two days. "Why don't you use them?"

"I didn't know it'd bother you."

"It didn't, but I just thought you should know." She rolled her shoulders, then her neck. "Thanks for waiting for me. It couldn't have been comfortable."

"No fooling."

"What were we talking about before I went to sleep?"

"NightWalkers," he reminded her.

"Ah, yes." She nodded and settled back against the pillows.

"How many are there?"

"I'm still finding them. The man who ran the experiments used several different types of people from all branches of the military and all walks of life. He didn't care what happened to the mind of the person he was tampering with, just that he got the desired results."

"Why didn't anyone stop him?" She shrugged.

"No one knew until one of them escaped, nearly killing himself and everyone who happened to be around him at the time."

"How'd you find out about him?"

"He found me. He could 'scent' my powers and felt how strong, how controlled, they were." She sighed. "He came to me for help and I've done the best I can to help him. I found out from him that there were more, most likely in worse shape than he was."

"Did he have natural talent?"

"Yes, but after all that, he was like an energy magnet."

"Huh?"

"All the emotions from the people around him became his own, only stronger. The more powerful the emotion or the longer the contact with that emotion, the greater the energy it produced. Most of it escaped as heat, so he was almost too hot to touch for the first three months that I knew him. He had to learn to control it, but we were too close to people, so I took him to Raven's Peak."

"Where's that?"

"High in the mountains of California. There were no other houses or towns around for miles and I didn't mind too much if certain portions were burned down." She pushed a hand through her hair, swearing under her breath as it tangled. Working the knots out with her fingers, she continued, "He called me his ground. I asked him what that meant, and he told me that being around me stilled the energy in him, allowing him to use it more effectively or get rid of it entirely."

"Like electricity."

"Something like that," she agreed. "All that energy needed someplace to go. When it ran out room in him, almost everything within reach of him caught fire. All I had to do was be in the same room with him or touch his mind with mine and he'd be all right. As long as he can reroute the energy, that is. If he can't, he has violent seizures and passes out."

"Pretty dangerous," Lance observed quietly. Dusty nodded.

"More to him than to anyone else. He couldn't be around people for an extended period of time and the stress of trying to control all that energy and the pain of the seizures was driving him insane."

"The others?"

"They came to me pretty much the same way, but after number fourteen, I started going in after them." She waited while he took all of that in.

"That's why you didn't tell us," he said quietly. "You didn't want that to happen to you."

"That's what I tried to tell you."

"It just never sank in until now. I'm sorry that I was so dense."

"I think it's permanent," she chuckled.

"What?"

"Your foot." He laughed, a little weakly, but it was better than nothing. "Doc's coming."

"What?" Dusty settled back on the pillows again and just smiled as Dr. Gorma walked in.

"You're awake, I see."

"Have been for the last twenty minutes," she replied cheerfully.

"Very good. If you'll excuse us?" he asked, looking at Lance.

"Sure thing, Doc," Lance said and stood up, wincing as his legs tingled at the change in position. He hobbled out of the room, and Dusty could hear him muttering under his breath as his legs woke up. Twenty minutes later, Dusty followed Dr. Gorma out. "Cut you loose, huh?"

"No point keeping me in bed when there's nothing wrong with me," she replied, stretching.

"Just be careful next time, Dusty," Dr. Gorma pleaded. "I don't think I could take it if you came in here like that again. Next time, I'll keep you sedated and stitch you to the bed."

"Yes, Doctor," she said, bowing her head, while Lance did his best not to laugh at the picture of herself stitched to the bed she sent him. It didn't work for long and Gorma glared at him when he snickered. _You're terrible, you know that?_

_Naturally,_ he replied, smiling.

"Quit flirting with him, Dusty," Dr. Gorma said sternly, but he smiled. "I don't have any remedies for inflated egos."

"Is that what I was doing?" she asked, her eyes wide in innocence. She paused as if considering, her brows drawing together in thought. "I had no idea."

"Go on, get moving," he sighed, pushing a hand through his rapidly graying hair. He could swear most of them came from her and that he could feel them sprouting through his scalp. "I see you in here one more time this year, don't think I won't do tie you down."

"Yes, Doctor." She impulsively leaned over and kissed his cheek, making him blush. "Thank you for not stitching me down this time."

"You are most welcome, Dusty," he replied, smiling. "Get going or I might still do just that."

"I'm going." She walked down the hall, Lance following her.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting something."

"What?"

"A contact for you. If anything happens to me, call this man. He'll help you. He may not like it much, but he'll help."

"More NightWalkers, Dusty?"

"Exactly. They'd be the only ones able to find me if something happens." He paused as though he wanted to say something, but he stopped himself. Dusty looked at him. _Go ahead and ask, Lance,_ she said quietly, letting him know the choice was his. _I won't get offended._ He was quiet, weighing his question carefully.

"Were all the NightWalkers the results of experimentation?" he finally asked.

"No. A few of them are strong psychics naturally and needed to learn to control their powers." _You've met a NightWalker before, Lance. Where?_

_Galaxy Garrison. Some of the kids there had powers and needed to control them. She came to G.G. and worked with us for quite a while. I didn't know she was a NightWalker at the time, but now that I do, I respect her all the more for it._

_Do you remember her name?_

_She called herself Destiny._

_Delightful woman. In addition to being a strong psychic, she was also a ground._

_It wasn't you . . . was it?_

_No, I was away when I sent her there. She could feel all of you and wanted to help, but she wanted the go ahead from me first._

_Oh._ He seemed to mull that over for a long while, thinking back to the woman who had taught him most of what he knew about his powers. Destiny had understood them when so many of their peers and family hadn't, and if Dusty hadn't created a sanctuary for the NightWalkers, he might never have met her or learned to control his powers. "You sent her?"

"She _wanted_ to go," she corrected. "It was her choice to go. She felt she was ready to face the world again, and I had to believe in her or she wouldn't have. All of you at G.G. needed her more than I did. She could have come back at any time, but she stayed. Destiny's still there, you know. She's goes back to the Peak during school breaks, but she always, _always_, goes back to G.G. and her 'children'."

"She's a remarkable woman."

"They all are," Dusty agreed with a nod. "I've always admired them for not only facing what had happened to them, but also because they never let it get them down or let it interfere with learning to control their powers. They all try so hard to put it behind them and most of them succeed, but what happened will always be a part of them."

"I've never heard you talk so much, Dusty," he teased her, making her smile.

"You should never have asked about the NightWalkers, Lance," she replied, "I could go on about them for the rest of my life, and never run out of material."

"I believe it," he chuckled, glad to see that she trusted him enough with both the secret of her immortality and the NightWalkers. She was taking those steps to opening up, but she was still a lock box, full of powerful secrets, when she wanted to be. He knew it would take several lifetimes to get to know her completely, but he was willing to take what he could get.

"Here," she said after a few minutes of digging through her duffel bag and handed him a slip of paper. "Call him if anything happens to me."

"What do you mean, Duster?"

"Just what I said." She sighed and pushed a hand through her hair. "We prefer that no one knows about who we are or what we do," she told him. "You have to have a very good reason to call on us. We're not a group of mercenaries, selling our loyalty to the highest bidder. _I_ used to do that, but no other NightWalker does. I make sure of that." She sighed again. "Whatever happens, don't call on them unless something _really_ bad happens."

"I will," he promised, tucking the paper deep inside his jacket. She nodded distractedly. "What's going on, Duster?"

"I don't know, Lance," she replied, sitting down on the bed, "and that bothers me. Something's going on and I have no idea what it is. It's going to be big, that much I know.

"You said that about Nonna, too," he pointed out, sitting next to her.

"I know, but Nonna could be small potatoes compared to what's going to happen."

"What is going to happen?"

"I have no idea." She looked at him, her expression unreadable. "That terrifies me."

"Let's get drunk, Dusty," he said suddenly.

"What?" she laughed, shaking her head.

"Let's get drunk. Get those bottles out and let's drink them all."

"All you're going to do is get sick."

"So? You can fix it, can't you?"

"Yes, I can, but why should I? Besides, you'll be drunk long before I will."

"Who cares?" She studied him for several moments, not sure what to think about this sudden change in attitude.

"What the hell? You're on." He stood and offered her a hand up. "Here or do you want to go out?"

"Let's make a night of it and go out," he said as he pulled her to her feet. She nodded, but resisted when he started to pull her out of the room.

"I _really_ need a shower," she explained simply when he looked back at her. "You do, too. Sitting on that chair for two days couldn't have been comfortable."

"It wasn't," he agreed, not realizing he still held her hand. She didn't notice either.

"Meet me in the rec room in thirty minutes."

"All right." He had moves, she gave him that. Smooth, unexpected, incredible moves. It wasn't fast, but it was so slick, so silky, she had no time to readjust, to think. His arms came around her, slid her against him, body to body so that without any real pressure she was molded to him. He dipped her back, just the slightest bit, and somehow conjured the illusion that they were horizontal instead of vertical.

The intimacy of it jolted through her, sent her head on a dizzy spin even before his mouth took hers. Soft, warm, and deep. His lips didn't brush or nibble, but simply absorbed. Now the dizziness was joined by a shimmering wave of heat that seamed to start in her toes and rise until it melted every bone. A little sound- stunned pleasure- hummed low in her throat like a purr. Her lips parted in welcome. _Oh, more!_ It took two tries to lift her boneless arms and circle his neck. Her knees buckled. It wouldn't have surprised her to feel her body simply dissolve and slide in little liquid drops into a pool at his feet. When he eased back, gently set her away, her vision was blurred, her mind blank.

"Wow," she murmured when she could finally talk, pressing her fingers to her lips.

"I'll say," he replied, having trouble getting his own breath back. "Thirty minutes?"

"Something like that."

"See you in thirty minutes then, Duster." She still looked so dazed, he couldn't resist leaning in for one more kiss before leaving the room. Dusty sat back down on the bed, her head still spinning.

"Who knew he could kiss like that?" She tried to stand, then lowered herself back to the bed. She would just wait until her legs were back under her, she decided, before she tried to make it across the room to the shower. Stepping out of the shower ten minutes later, she pulled out what she affectionately termed her "tonight's-the-night" underwear. Dusty wasn't sure if she'd let Lance see them, but _she_ knew she was wearing the sexy black bra, the lacy panties, the lace-trimmed garter belt and sheer hose, and they would make her feel powerful.

She checked herself in the mirror-front, back, sides. "Oh, yeah, let's swing the hammer and ring the bell, Duster." Dusty picked up the dress she'd set on the bed. It looked deceptively simple, one long, fluid line of black, but when you put a body into it, everything changed. She slipped it on, and gave it a few tugs before doing another turn in front of the mirror.

The scoop neck took on a whole new dimension when there were breasts filling it out, rising teasingly over the edge. The column turned seductive when the slightest movement parted that long side slit and revealed the length of leg. She slipped on her shoes, delighted that the stiletto heels added three inches to her already impressive height. She'd never been sensitive about being tall. Hell, she _liked_ it. She'd done her hair sleek and loose, with a little jeweled clip anchored between the crown and the tip of her right ear. Just another tease, she mused. The clip didn't _do_ anything but sit there and sparkle.

It was closer to forty-five minutes when she finally joined him in the rec room. He looked up when the door opened and felt his jaw just drop to his shins. She smiled when his eyes widened, and blurred. She saw the pulse in his throat jump. Then he fisted his hand and thumped his chest twice as if trying to jump-start his heart. "I feel underdressed," he said when he could string two thoughts together, fussing with his tie as if he couldn't breathe. Her eyes glinting with humor, she studied him. He'd dressed up too, wearing a dark dinner suit, the white of his shirt contrasting with a tan she had no idea he'd picked up.

"You clean up pretty good, Lance," she commented, straightening his tie herself.

"So do you," he replied, his eyes still a little glazed.

"Thank you. Shall we?" She tucked her hand in his elbow and smiled at him. In her heels, they were close to the same height.

"Where are we going?" he asked, looking at her face, which she gave him major points for.

"Someplace that matches my outfit," she said, preparing herself to have a good time.

"I think I can arrange that," he chuckled, leading her out of the rec room.

"Dusty! Hey, Dusty!" Pidge cried, running up behind them.

"I knew this couldn't last," Dusty muttered under her breath. "What's up, Pidge?" She turned to him.

"Wowser," Pidge managed when he looked her up and down. "Did I interrupt something?"

"No, Pidge, you didn't," Lance said, glancing at Dusty. "What's so important?"

"I found it. I found what you were looking for,"

"Rain check?" Dusty asked, looking apologetically at Lance.

"Sure," he answered, chuckling. "Feel free to cash it anytime."  
"Thanks, Lance." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "You're sweet. So what'd you find?"

"Come on, I'll show you." With a quiet sigh, she followed him to his room, slipping off her shoes when she got there. He brought up the information he'd compiled and moved away from the screen so she could read it.

"O'Brian has ties to the Border Patrol?" she asked incredulously as she read. "No wonder he was able to get so many shipments through without even being stopped. Even _I_ was never able to do that."

"Loran Morgan?"

"Lance told you, huh?"

"No, I'm just good at guessing."

"Boy, I guess I'm an open book these days." She scanned the pages scrolling by, pressing a button to bring them to a stop. "Look at that."

"What?"

"Turns out he bought a _lot_ of explosives a few days before my ship blew up, all of it fairly weak compared to some of the stuff he usually uses." She chuckled. "I've made stronger stuff than that in chemistry class. I guess it was as I thought, then. It was a warning. It's the why I still haven't figured out. He wouldn't help me unless there was something in it for him."

"Take what you can, give nothing back?"

"It's true enough, I suppose." She shrugged. "However, he's either warning me to stay away from him or that he's going to do something big and I'd better keep an eye out for him and his buddies. Why's he making trouble for Darius, though? That would get him nothing except a late night visit from the Angel of Death."

"Darius?"

"He's a friend, after a fashion," she replied, jerking one shoulder. "Anyway, why make trouble for him, when I'm easier and more accessible?"

"How close a friend is Darius?"

"Not _close_, but close enough."

"He makes trouble for him, he makes trouble for you. Guilt by association." She paused, considering. She hadn't seen that angle before.

"I guess I'm going to have to call Darius."


	6. Plots and Plans

**Disclaimer:** Why do I have to keep doing this::wails and sobs: It's not mine and it never will be, ok? Just don't make me type this again!

Darius reminded her a lot of Dayan. His looks- the dark gold hair, the sooty eyes and sorcerer's mouth- all made him, in her opinion, a dangerous one. He had the toned, rangy build made for the close-fitting black jeans and shirt. While he wasn't as built as Dayan, he had a graceful, elegant body that could move as quickly as a striking snake. She knew he was: she'd trained him to be that way. It was almost impossible to make Darius nervous, but she seemed to do it with ease. "Darius, what's been going on?" she asked without preamble. "Things seem to have gone straight to hell in a hand basket since I left you alone."

"I won't deny that things have been . . . difficult during the transition," he agreed, "but your little friend O'Brian--"

"I want you to get something straight right now, Darius," she said calmly, knowing her tone would make him even more uncomfortable, "O'Brian never has been and never will be my 'friend.' He's done nothing but make trouble for me since I met him."

"Very well. I know you've been checking up on me and the others, but that's not necessary."

"Tell me something, Darius," she began conversationally, "why was Will here?"

"This is news to me," he replied, giving her an innocent look that didn't fool her for an instant.

"No, it's not," she told him, shaking her head slightly. "You _knew_ where he was and is at this very moment, so don't try any of your tricks with me. I know them all and they don't work on me. They never have and never will. I gathered, straight from his thoughts, mind you, that you've been planning to take me out so you can have leadership."

"That's not true!"

"I think it is. You've never been able to stand me, and we both know it. Even when I rescued you from that hell you'd been left in, you didn't like me. Probably because you couldn't stand the fact that a woman rescued you." His silence was telling enough. "I thought so."

_Sniveling little coward,_ Lance said, scowling.

_True enough,_ she replied, _but he's still my responsibility._

_You took responsibility for him before,_ he told her, _but once you gave him leadership, he became responsible for himself._

_I gave him leadership while I was away,_ she responded, _and he let it go to his head, even though he knew it was only temporary._

_Absolute power corrupts absolutely,_ he replied, making her sigh.

"I'm too annoyed with you to continue this conversation," she said to Darius. "I'll talk to you later."

"Yes, Dusty," he answered, bowing his head. He looked acquiescent, but Lance saw something in his eyes. Dusty cut communications and leaned back in her chair.

"Do you think that he'll listen to you?"

"Not a chance," she replied, undoing her clip and shaking her hair out. "He'll probably split or even send someone else out this way."

"Is he ready to leave?" She shook her head.

"He's still too open to the emotions of others." She sighed again. "He knows that, so his only other option is to send someone out here."

"Who will he send?" Dusty thought for several moments, getting up to pace her room, her strides quick, agitated.

"Barack," she answered finally. "He's one of the few who can be out of the Peak for any extended period of time. Darius can only be in the same room with another person for about a half hour or so before he starts to lose it." She sat again and began typing.

"What are you doing?" She glanced at him.

"Sending instructions to my people. The NightWalkers, if they don't already, need to know what's going on."

"If they already know?"

"Again, you're full of questions," she chuckled, not put off in the least by his questions. She would have been not long ago, but everything had changed the day she'd met them all. "Then they'll do what needs to be done to keep Darius from doing something stupid. Barack and the others who can will do that."

"Can you trust them?"

"Yes, I can trust them." Pushing a hand through her hair, which had turned tawny gold, she sat back. "Not just because they owe me their lives, either. That's a debt that can't be repaid easily."

"I know that," he whispered, remembering the virus that had ravaged Arus not so long ago.

"I owe you guys just as much," she said quietly. "You gave me back something I thought I'd lost forever."  
"What's that?"

"Friends. I never thought I'd make a friend again." She chuckled self-deprecatingly. "I was too afraid of what I'd feel if I lost yet another friend. You guys made me forget that and remember what it felt like to _have_ a friend, no matter how long we were together."

"Well, you're welcome." She smiled, before becoming as still as a statue. A predator hunting prey. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Someone's here," she replied, keeping her voice at a whisper. "Someone who shouldn't be."

"Who?"

"_Shassa,_" she whispered in Zalarian.

"What?"

"Assassin!" _Keith!_

_Dusty, what is it?_ he asked, her sharp tone instantly getting his full attention.

_Get to the princess. I don't care what you have to tell her or do, but get her somewhere safe. She's being threatened._

_I'm on my way._ She knew he'd do it. He'd take care of her. He always did.

_Proton, go with Keith and stay with him._

_You got it, Dusty,_ Proton replied immediately.

_Electron, pry Pidge away from his computer and get him to the control room._

_As you wish,_ he answered, his thoughts tinged a determined blue.

_Neutron, wander the halls. Look for anything or anyone that shouldn't be here._

_I'm on it,_ he acknowledged. She smiled: her brave kittens would do their best to keep them safe. "Lance--"

"I'm sticking with you," he interrupted.

"Not with what I have to do," she argued, knowing any delay could cost lives.

"Dusty--"

"Lance, I'll move faster alone." She could just leave him, simply disappear from the room, or she could plant a compulsion that would keep him safe and out of danger, but he'd never respect or trust her again. "Please, Lance. This time I'm asking. Please, _doushenka,_ respect my wishes and do not follow me." He looked at her, reading the determination and what looked like fear on her face, and sighed.

"All right," he said, pushing a hand through his hair. "What do you want me to do?"

"Help Keith keep an eye on Allura. Trust me, he'll need it." He nodded before he pulled her against him. The kiss was hard and long, with hints of a fire barely banked. Just as abruptly he drew her away. "Be careful, Duster."

"You, too," she replied and was gone. Lance sighed and went to find Keith.

"I don't like this," Lance said, pacing around the observation room. "It's not possible that an assassin got in past our security."

"Who says the assassin wasn't already inside?" Keith returned, watching his friend.

"But who is it?" Allura asked, looking from one to the other.

"I don't know, Princess," Lance replied, "but whoever it is, Dusty will find them."

"You trust her?"

"Absolutely."

"You didn't hesitate," Keith observed, steepling his fingers under chin and leaning back in his seat.

"I didn't need to." He sat down, knowing he should conserve his energy, just in case. "Could this be what she was talking about?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"She told me she had a feeling that something big was going to happen," he explained, "that what happened with Nonna would be nothing compared to this."

"Let her worry about the assassin, Lance," Allura advised, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. "She wouldn't have asked you to keep an eye on me if she wasn't worried about you. You're important to her, and her to you."

"How do you know?"

"I may be blonde, Lance, but I'm not a moron."

"Never said you were." She nodded and paced herself for few moments, betraying her own agitation and fear, before sitting back down. All they could do was wait for the all clear from Dusty. It didn't sit well with any of them, but they had little say in the matter.

Silently, her gray coat blending perfectly with the walls and floor, Dusty crept forward, following the assassin. She could take him down at any time, but she followed him, wanting to know more about who had sent him. Whoever he really was, his position in the castle allowed him freedom of movement without being seen and the fact that he knew exactly where he was going meant that he'd either studied the maps of the castle or had wandered them alone enough to get a feel for the place or even both. She'd used the same tactic more than once and it helped knowing the layout of a building in the long run.

He was going to Allura's quarters, thinking that this late at night she was in bed and asleep. Dusty knew where she was and wasn't going to give that kind of information up without taking care of this idiot. She stayed behind him, coming to a standstill when he paused, sensing someone behind him. He turned, giving her a glimpse of his face. _Damn it,_ she thought to herself. She knew who it was and she wasn't happy about it. _Lance,_ she sent, barely a thread of thought.

_Dusty,_ he replied immediately, catching her technique and using it. She was impressed; it usually took a NightWalker three or four months to learn the basics of that technique.

_Is there another way out of the castle?_

_Yes, why?_

_Take it. Don't ask questions and don't argue. Get out of here, now._

_Who is it, Dusty? Answer that._ She sighed heavily, knowing he wouldn't leave without answers.

_A NightWalker. I don't know why I didn't sense him before, but he's here._

_Which NightWalker?_

_Gabriel._

_Sounds bad._

_Could be worse._ Gabriel turned back, having seen no one, assured he was alone. Dusty followed him again, waiting until he was at the door to Allura's room before shifting to her human form. "Hello, Gabriel," she said quietly, making him spin around.

"Dusty!" he cried in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you that, Gabriel," she answered, tensing her body without seeming to move a muscle. "Did Darius send you?"

"Yes, he sent me, but not for the reason you think."

"Why are you slinking around in the middle of the night then, Gabriel?" Faster than even she could follow, he drew a knife and slashed at her, ripping her shirt as she danced back from the blade. "Now that wasn't very nice, Gabriel." She drew her own dagger from her wrist sheath and set herself for anything he could throw at her.

He growled and swung at her again. She blocked with her dagger and drover her fist into his stomach. Gabriel feinted and she swayed neatly away. The two crouched, facing each other across seven feet, knife hands weaving, free hands spread-fingered and ready. Gabriel again pressed the attack. She allowed him in close then dodged away with a backhanded swipe. Fabric tore and he snarled.

He lunged immediately, faster on his feet than Dusty would've originally guessed for a man his size. Dusty was forced again to dodge; Gabriel's knife scored a bone-deep cut on her left arm from shoulder to elbow. Cutting of feeling to the injured area, Dusty countered, ducking under his arm and slashed against his side. Gabriel caught her, yanking her hair savagely, and she was trapped against his side. She struggled weakly with her left arm to keep his knife arm up, but the hilt jammed her side, tearing her shirt.

Bringing up one knee, she allowed herself to collapse. As Gabriel gasped from the blow, Dusty danced away, but she could feel the blood beginning to stain the fabric of her shirt. Gabriel straightened and charged, red faced and wheezing from shock and fury, forcing Dusty to sidestep quickly.

She instinctively swerved out of the way just as Gabriel's flashing blade came within centimeters of her abdomen. At the same time, her knife sliced down the outside of his arm. Instantly, the two pivoted to face each other, but his arm hung limp and useless at his side. Dusty darted in, pressing her advantage as Gabriel staggered, but he mustn't have been as injured as Dusty assumed. She suffered a hard kick to the left side as he feinted with his blade, sure she felt something give.

Doubled in pain, she backed frantically away from her relentless adversary. He lurched forward, trying to catch her for a final thrust. Dusty managed to straighten up to meet the stumbling charge. Her movement caught Gabriel by surprise. Overreaching his mark, he stumbled, off balance. Seizing the opportunity, Dusty brought her right hand over in a powerful punch. Gabriel fell back on the floor, the force of the blow knocking him unconscious.

_All clear,_ she called out, pressing one had against the cut on her arm.

_Are you all right, Dusty?_ Lance asked, sensing she was holding something back.

_Could've been worse,_ she replied, breathing shallowly against the pain in her side.

_Is he dead?_

_Unconscious,_ she answered, picking up his knife. _Come and get him before I change my mind about keeping him that way._

_All right, we're coming,_ he told her, chuckling. _You don't need to go to the infirmary, do you?_

_Most of the blood's his,_ she said, defending herself, _and anyway, it's not like I can't take care of it myself._

_You just don't want to be sewn to the bed,_ he teased.

_You're right,_ she replied, smiling when he laughed at the picture she sent him. _He'll live and so will I._

_Good to hear, Dusty,_ the cats said together.

Lance looked up when Dusty stepped out of the holding cell, the door closing quickly and quietly behind her. "Find out anything?" he asked, seeing the odd look on her face.

"More than he thinks I did, anyway," she said with a sigh.

"Not good, huh?" He put an arm around her, drawing her under his shoulder. She was tall, but she fit under his shoulder as if she'd always been there.

"No, not good at all," she replied, resting her head on his shoulder. He was a gentle, calming soul, seeming to take everything in stride, but she knew better. She suspected that his devil-may-care attitude was simply his way of dealing with the hardships of life.

"Would it help to talk about it?" he asked quietly, not sure if he'd like the answer. After this, she might just revert to keeping everything to herself.

"Yes, but not here. I need some air."

"The roof?" She nodded against his shoulder, her eyes closing. She was tired, probably more tired than she'd ever admit, but it was more than just simple fatigue that dragged at her now. In all her long centuries on earth, she didn't think she'd ever been this tired. Dusty let him lead her to the roof, saying nothing until they got there and the door closed firmly behind them. He sat and leaned against the wall, tugging her down with him so that she sat between his knees with her back against his chest. "Darius at it again?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her when she shivered in the chilly breeze.

"Seems that way," she replied, relaxing against him. "It turns out he was behind the bomb on my ship, the explosives coming from O'Brian."

"They're working together?"

"It's beginning to look that way." She sighed. "I probably just should have left him there. He would probably have been happier."

"Your conscience and honor wouldn't have allowed that, Dusty, you know that," Lance argued, tightening his hold when she would have pulled away. He said nothing more until she sat back again. "Once you learned of what your 'friend' was doing to those people, you couldn't just leave them there. You said yourself that they have no natural filters or barriers anymore, leaving them totally unprotected from everyone they met. It would have driven them mad and left their powers to the mercy of their emotions." He sighed, propping his chin on top of her head. "Maybe Darius was already crazy when they got hold of him."

"Huh?"

"Maybe he knew he had powers, all right, and he . . . _volunteered_, shall we say, to be experimented on, hoping to increase his powers. In return, he lost all control over his powers and was a danger to himself and to others."

"I don't understand how anyone could volunteer for that kind of thing, Lance," she said quietly, resting her head on his arm.

"Neither do I, but maybe there were some volunteers, people who didn't know what the downsides were to this experiment. Did you have any trouble teaching Darius to control his powers?"

"Yes, but I don't really see what that has to do with anything."

"Maybe he didn't _want_ to control his powers in the first place. He just became addicted to the thrill of having super-human powers, and being able to use them. What did he care if he couldn't control it? It was there, always ready for him to use, however he chose, whenever he chose." Dusty was quiet for a long time, considering what he'd told her.

"I never thought about it like that," she replied, closing her eyes again. "You seem to know him better than I do, and you've never me the man in person. At least, I hope not."

"No, not at all. Kind of hard to forget a face like that."

"You're right about that," she said with a sigh. She opened her eyes and looked up at the half moon. "I just want all this to be over, Lance."

"I know, Duster," he answered, tightening his arms around her. "It's got to end, one way or another, but you saved this guy's life."

"He's not too happy about that," she reminded him dryly.

"That's not the point. You did it, and both of you have to deal with that." He sighed. "I can't tell you what to do about him, Dusty, but something has to be done. You can't just keep on fighting your own people. It just demoralizes all of you."

"Divert, disrupt, demoralize and destroy," she said quietly, not liking where her thoughts were leading.

"You don't think he's trying to destroy the NightWalkers?" Lance asked, his thoughts going along the same lines as hers.

"I hope not," she replied. "It could be that he's trying to undermine my authority and take over the NightWalkers. Under his control, I don't know what will happen to them."

_Dusty,_ Proton called quietly. Dusty sighed and straightened up. Lance let her go, getting to his feet and pulling her up with him.

_What is it, Proton?_

_You've got a call,_ she replied, curiosity in her tone.

_All right. I'm coming._ She turned to Lance and kissed his cheek. "Thanks, Lance."

"For what?"

"For listening. You're good at that."

"I do my poor best." She laughed.

"And for making me laugh. You're good at that, too," she said and kissed his other cheek.

"I'll listen and make you laugh some more if you kiss me again," he teased, "and aim for here next time." He tapped a finger to his lips.

"We'll see," she chuckled and followed him as they walked down the stairs.

To be continued . . .

**AN:** Whew! That's another story done. They seem to get longer as I go along, don't they? Anyway, read and review please. I don't mind criticism, but in the interest of world peace, keep it constructive. That said, here's to another story with hopes for the one to follow, "Forever May Not Be Long Enough".


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